There is a glint in her emerald eyes, sharp as the edge of her blades. Her expression betrays nothing, but her body language does ( arms crossed, chin held high ); the girl is sizing him up, this kid her dad saw fit to bring home, that mother had not seemed entirely pleased by.
As in all things, Katarina leans to her father's side. Mother was, admittedly, disinclined to like anything that was a surprise or not her choice, and this was both. But if father chose to bring him the boy to their home — to have him fed and cleaned and clothed, to give him a place to stay, to state he would train this Talon himself — she figures it's not without reason. Father never does anything without reason.
They had been introduced, of course, but it's the first chance Katarina gets to actually talk to the boy. And, despite her stance, curiosity drives her more than judgment, the latter a side effect of being born to nobility. ❝ Have you known him for long? I figure father didn't bring you here right after you two met. How did that happen, anyway? ❞ // from @noxianwill , you get a baby this time
He was told to make himself at home, but he's never been allowed to linger in such luxury before, doesn't know what to do with the plush rugs and velvety chairs, wouldn't know what to do with one pillow, let alone four. Despite being surrounded by comfort, the security in four walls and heavy doors, Talon has never felt more on edge.
Finally, he finds a windowsill he can perch in, back against the wall and his green eyes turned out towards the street, watching everyone who passes by like his life still depends on it. He had not thought of himself as someone who finds comfort in the familiar until that moment, doing something simply because it feels like something he did before everything changed.
Talon's attention turns to her before she speaks; a creak of the floorboards or a whisper of fabric alerting him to her presence before she announces it herself. Katarina. He remembers the name, a highborn name. There will be no 'Fang's or 'Blade's in his future, he thinks. They had met earlier, but they hadn't chatted. Talon feels a whisper of discomfort at her presence now, a sense that he ought to be somewhere else, like he's been discovered in a place he shouldn't be.
"Not long," Talon says, glancing to the side when a candle flickers, then bacak at her. The eldest daughter, looking very much the part. She stands tall, bold in a way that wouldn't last her long in the gutter, and Talon meets her gaze steadily. His voice is worn with disuse — it has seen more action this week than in his entire life, he thinks. "He bested me," Talon says, the words burning with shame on his tongue, "Then offered me a choice. I didn't feel like dying."
